We clear the gap.
“YES!” I shout, fist thrust to the sky, every muscle trembling from effort and adrenaline.
Ash tries cheering, but his smile falters.
As we barrel down the mountain, color turns to streaks of bright flame, dark smoke, and, slowly, more green than orange. The smell of living pine strengthens. Gray plumes shrink back into something that looks distant again. Not far, but far enough for now.
“We made it,” I say. Relief rushes through my chest, snipping the marionette strings that have held me tight all day. “I can’t believe we made it.”
But Ash is sobbing, and for the first time in my life I feel strong enough to help.
I put a hand on his shaking shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”
“But my phone—” He swallows a gasp. “I almost killed us. For fucking job applications.”
“You told me to set my alarm. I didn’t. We share the blame.” I wrap an arm around him, and he folds into me hard enough to remind me how solid he is. My hand finds the back of his head without thinking, fingers weaving through sweat-damp hair as I murmur, “We made it. Okay? You’re okay.”
We ride like that for a long time, his arms clinging to me while the danger slowly recedes behind us. His sobbing eases too, a storm thinning to drizzle and then to nothing, until all that’s left between us is something quiet and heavy. When he finally pulls away, I miss the weight of him immediately. More than that, I miss the strange rush of having someone built like Ash lean on me and finding out I can take it.
I could get used to that feeling.
Ash keeps one hand in mine, like he’s afraid to let go, and I squeeze back.
The first sign of civilization is a small, still lake ringed with a strip of golden sand, so peaceful it feels absurd after everything behind us. We rattle past red-and-white barricades blocking the road, and Sharon finally eases off the gas.
“Paradise,” I say, managing a weak smile.
The sky is startlingly blue, and normal air feels so fresh and cool that I lift my free hand in a wordless gesture of relief. Ash’s hand, still clasped in mine, lifts with it, and a whoop escapes me before I can stop it.
Some of the darkness leaves his face. He smiles through red-rimmed eyes, and for one reckless second I can’t stop myself from wondering what it would feel like to kiss him, right here with smoke still behind us and his hand still locked in mine.
It almost makes me forget that my life is its own ongoing disaster, wildfire or no wildfire.
We both start laughing instead, cracked open by relief so sudden it almost feels unhinged. The warmth of it lingers, especially where our fingers are still laced together.
Hill’s Country Store is the first building we pass, a lone gas pump beneath an illuminated OPEN sign buzzing in the window. A short line of cars snakes toward the pump, hinting that something’s off, but Paradise is still paradise compared to what we’ve escaped.
The narrow mountain road widens into a main street bordered by empty sidewalks. Evacuated Paradise is a ghost town, but it’s a new one with bright lane paint, unfaded road signs, fresh landscaping, and clean, empty parking lots.
By the time Sharon turns onto a residential street, it looks like we’ve driven out of danger and into another world entirely.When she finally pulls to a stop, I half expect the ground to feel different.
“This is it,” she says through the rolled-down window, one hand still braced on Walt’s shoulder as he breathes shallowly beside her. “Home.”
CHAPTER 18
ASH
Sharon isout of the truck, striding toward the corner building, while Kael and I are still catching our breath. Paradise’s emptiness is unsettling, but one look at this place explains why they live here.
“Come on, boys,” Sharon calls, not bothering to look back. “Walt, we’re goin’ inside, you hear? Be right back.”
He doesn’t respond. He hasn’t responded to anything. He just sits there staring at something only he can see.
Kael hurries after her, his hair still damp with sweat, clothes streaked with ash. I watch him go, wondering how he can move so easily when my legs feel like lead. He’s lighter now, relieved, almost glowing. I’m not there yet. My ears are still ringing, and smoke still clings to the back of my tongue.
A row of five storefronts lines the block, all of them new but trying hard to look old. Four rise three stories, each in its own costume: one looks like an Edwardian version of my neighbor’s house back in the city, another wears dark beams over white plaster, one is a brick box with serious columns, and the last is a plain rectangle dressed up with neon trim.
Sharon and Walt’s place holds the corner with charcoal-gray siding, a slate tile roof, and big dark-framed windows. Theoversized 800 above the door makes it stand out, along with the empty sign perched on the roof.
